The Endeavors & Byproducts of Molly Hooper
by Jonnaisabarbecuedeggplant
Summary: Molly has this...problem..that can only be solved by the one and only Sherlock Holmes. However, he may prove to be of little aid in this situation, leaving Molly to resort to her own solution, which spirals things out of control. WWAAAWPOooCCHCHHCH *spiraling noise People are lost. People will die. But it all allows Sherlock to discover reality's lie. (wish there was "weird" genre)


CHAPTER 1

A strange sound of annoyance left Molly's mouth. She scolded herself under her breath, in annoyance of the fact that she was so distracted that she had almost set the building on fire. She looked at the two, clouded beakers, one still halfway trembling from the nudge of her elbow. She wasn't even quite sure what she was working on, which probably means she shouldn't be handling hazardous chemicals. Anyhow, she didn't see how she could be so careless as to _almost_ spill the hydrazine onto the nitric acid. Her hands violently shook as she slowly slid herself back, one foot at a time. The countertop was covered in dangerous chemicals, but her distraction was so great that she couldn't even concentrate on keeping the right substances apart.

Today.

She winced.

Today was the day she dreaded.

She pained herself with a gut-wrenching feeling and heavy breaths as sweat barely trickled down her forehead. It was fear. It was disgust. And it was regret. Regret that she had accepted such a distressing offer. She placed her hand over her chest as if it would keep her heart rate down. It was beating. It kept beating. WHY DIDN'T IT STOP?!

She began to clear her things from the table because she didn't foresee herself getting anywhere positive with these chemicals. She scanned labels and drawers to place each instrument in its correct place, double-checking herself to make sure everything was organized EXACTLY as it should be. She fiercely attempted to concentrate on organization before she left, but her emotions were too much to contain while handling tedious tasks. She felt her face burn as it turned a darker color. Molly gripped the edge of her shirt with her hand as she used the other to balance herself, clenching the edge of the table and trying to calm down enough to leave. When her body seemed secure enough, she let go. She sought to obtain stability as she backed away again. But, as she walked towards her locker and hung her lab coat on the hook, the strain upon her self-control shattered as she screamed. The small place on the neck of the coat was far too small to fit on the hook of the locker door. She attempted to hang the coat. And hang the coat again. And again. Molly abandoned her patience with the task. Everyday activities seemed impossible and maddening. She had lost her temper and began another fit, most likely her fifth one today, but she was too distracted to keep count. In the act of casting items from her locker and constructing a mix of screaming and grumbling in the back of her throat, she somehow noticed a figure standing behind her. Long. Dark. Molly paused in exasperation and stun. It was him. She froze in her actions. Her heavy breaths soon became long and quiet. She waited. He spoke with a deep, but smooth voice.

"Are you ready?"

She began to open her mouth, but before she could say anything he spoke again.

"It's time."

He paused between the two words. He was slow and cautious in speaking to Molly. He knew how she felt on the subject.

She turned and slowly closed her locker door, slightly bent by a _Chemical Research Guide_ book she had lodged into it a few seconds earlier. The door squeaked and illuminated the awkward tone of the room, for it was the only sound heard.

Once the door was shut, it was silent. Everything. The two of them. It was all silent.

Molly followed him slowly, maintaining the silence between them even as they walked into the streets of London. They were crowded with people. Talking, texting, eating, yelling, driving, shopping. So much noise. It was everywhere. But it was silent. It felt so silent. The silence between the two of them was too great to be obscured by some boisterous people.

She sighed in great lengths. She held her breath, and let it go. Every few moments, Molly would stare up at him and wonder what was going on in his head. She couldn't though. She wouldn't even know where to begin.

She clutched the strap of her somewhat old, leather knock-off bag, while they waited for a cab. Molly's eyes were directed to a blissful couple with a small child across the street that caused her nerves to, again, arise and make her shiver. It was hard to decipher what could make that couple so carefree and happy when they have the responsibility of taking care of that…she held her breath again…child. People all around them were rushing and demanding, while they were so joyful. Of course Molly would be able to pick the couple out, because they don't make sense! It just wasn't…comprehendible.

"Shut up, Molly."

The voice came suddenly and brought her out of her thoughts. She looked up to its originator.

"I didn't say—"

"You were thinking it."

He looked down upon her. It made her dizzy, his abilities. He could somehow see right through her. She was absolutely transparent; but this somehow caused him to miss so much. The things she wanted him to see, he never saw. Yet, he can see this. It burdened her. Her face burned again as she responded.

"Would you please st—"

"Cab's here."

He spoke, completely ignoring her statement. She became huffy, but decided to stop responding for it would most likely dig into the pain even more.

They both entered the cab and she stared up at him again. She felt a desire to beg that he could get her out of this. Somehow…It's possible he would be willing to help her…

Molly lifted her hand slightly. She was hesitant. She looked down at her shirt sleeve, plain and striped, and wrinkled, due to her carelessness and lack of concentration she had been burdened with all day. The sleeves were turned in a bit further on one side because of a nervous coffee spill from breakfast that morning. It bothered her also, but she was far too worried about other things to care at the moment. She moved her eyes back to the man beside her. His head was turned. Molly suddenly grabbed his arm, bundling his coat sleeve into her shaking hands. His head turned immediately in alarm. His was face was hard, but his eyes soft. Would he help her? She curved her lips inward and moved her eyebrows to a pleading position. _Speak to him_, she thought to herself. _Just ask._ Her expression was terrified, but she began. She spoke in just barely a whisper. Molly's voice was somewhat squeaky and winey, but gentle.

"Sherlock? Please, help me. I can't go through with this."

Her eyes were wide and expectant of his aid, but he responded otherwise. His eyes turned down, but rose again to calm her, which was near impossible at the moment.

"Molly, you've made this promise. And you must follow through. You need to face it."

His gentle tone dissipated.

"And stop being such a wuss."


End file.
